Denial

Every time I sit, the pressure on my finger shaped bruises makes me wince. This morning (more like afternoon) I woke up sore in all sorts of weird places: my knees, my pussy, my neck, my legs, but mainly my poor ass. I’ve been spanked before, but these strong, relentless slaps left my butt streaked with purple and red, and my skin sore to the slightest touch.

As always Jake has been giving me lusty looks all day, and I admit I’ve been trying to keep myself busy with other things. As hot as the flashbacks make me, like remembering being yanked up from the floor by my hair or whispered words of filth while he’s inside, my body says no. It says I need a fucking break, literally.

All day I’ve struggled with this, with the arousal bubbling inside me as my mind wanders to the previous night’s ecstasy, and my sore muscles and bruises protesting with every move. I park my computer on my lap like a castle moat, hoping to protect myself from Jake’s delicious but at the moment potentially painful touch. I think he’s got the hint, and although he’s made a few suggestive comments, we’ve each been busy doing other things.

In an absent minded moment, I make the mistake of pulling my tank top down below my breast to caress my sore nipple, and before I know it Jake’s lips have taken over, the bulge in his shorts hardening instantly.

“Be gentle,” I say, giggling, as he releases my other breast, “they’re still really sore.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he rubs his hand over my panties.

“And what about this?” He squeezes it gently, awakening my clit.

“Yes, that too. I don’t know if I can handle being fucked again yet.”

“I didn’t say anything about fucking.”

With that he licks his middle finger, reaching inside this time. I close my eyes and focus on his hands, and his warm breath alternating between my nipples and my lips. Lustful memories surface again, and when I open my eyes, I know he’s thinking the exact same thing.

“You’re such a good little slut,” he says.

“Yes,” I answer, smiling, “I am.”

Anxious to prove it, I pull down a blanket from the futon and kneel on it in front of him, ignoring the thudding pain from my bruises. I start from below, licking slowly, using my tongue to bounce his cock back and forth. I take my time, I take him all the way in, I kiss every inch. I close my eyes again, and I rub him over my face, on my chest, on my lips. I don’t understand why some women hate giving oral; there’s so much power in it.

His body sunk into the couch, his dick in my mouth, the glazed look in his eyes. He is mine, and I love it.

I feel him getting close, his balls moving upwards and his thighs clenching, and I stop. His hand is quickly where my mouth was, and he watches as I stand up silently. I don’t have to say what I want, he knows I’ve changed my mind; not only can I handle being fucked again, I want to be fucked again, I need it.

The next few minutes are a mess of heavy breathing, clothing flying through the air, and a race of mouths to body parts. I win, swallowing him, and he comes in a close second, three fingers inside me tugging at my g-spot like it’s war. I let out a muffled moan, and try to remember to suck as I’m quickly distracted by the rockets of heat shooting from my thighs and now a finger in my ass. I realize he’s not in my mouth anymore when I open my eyes, but his cock is still hard and ready without my assistance. I don’t protest as he buries himself between my legs, and my moaning crescendos with every lick.

I’m at the top, I can almost feel my Everest, my peak, when he gives me a taste of my own bittersweet medicine, pulling his fingers out and mouth off of my hot wetness just before I make it.

In this position, with him thrusting from behind and pulling my arms backward, I can’t move an inch. All I can do is moan into the sheets and my knotted hair beneath me. At first I protest a little, trying to break from his grip. He holds tight.

“Oh that feels so good,” I mumble, and for a minute he lessens his hold. I take advantage of this, trying to sneak my hand around, but it’s twisted back behind me before I can say, “fuck.”

I give up, letting my pussy feel him from within instead. I can’t see anything, fused to the bed, wet and tangled. He twists a little, pulling my hips up, and gets me where I need it.

“Oh, god, please!”

“Now!” he answers, releasing my right hand but still thrusting, and as soon as I touch myself I crumble, my body flooded with a pleasure so strong it could carve rocks or uproot trees. I’m useless for a few moments, a sweaty clenching mess, but he keeps going.

Almost every time I orgasm, I think I can’t take anymore, can’t take anymore pleasure. But I can. And I feel the greed growing inside, the need for more. I climb on top of him, making sure to rub my hips for just the right amount of friction. I spin around, reverse, and hold my cheeks open as I slow down a bit. I need another one, another orgasm, another release. He senses me slowing, sees my creeping fingers, and pulls me down on top of him.

I love how he throws me around like I’m weightless, and soon I’m below him again, face to face. I can tell he’s close by the primal look in his eyes, and hoping to join him I tap on my clit.

“No,” he says, pinning my arms. He gazes into me as he moves faster, and I thrust myself up to meet him. My clit throbs and feels like it will burst open, but I ignore it. Bound and forced to focus on only the feeling of his cock, the fire inside me grows, feelings flashing like sparks in every direction. My moaning becomes screaming as he moves harder, and then I lose my breath, gasping as I erupt from inside out. Jake mirrors my explosion with his own, hot spurts sprinkling my stomach.

After, being the gentleman he is, Jake towels me off as I lay motionless on the bed, regaining my energy. He turns me over, caressing my sore bottom, tracing a sticky spot he missed over my sensitive skin.

“That was hot,” I say, “you denying me another clitoral orgasm.”

He’s done this before, kept me from touching myself, but he usually touches me instead, or eventually lets me go. For us it’s usually more about teasing than power-play.

“I wouldn’t have had that amazing g-spot orgasm, my clit gets too greedy,” I continue, “I love how sometimes you know just what I need. Like today, mmm.”